blood moon
by originella
Summary: After an assault by her boyfriend, James, it is the last straw for Bella, who makes a stand against society by moving from Phoenix, AZ to Forks, WA to live with her father. Closed off from the idea of love, seventeen-year-old Bella won't entertain the very idea, even from Edward Cullen, a fellow junior, who thinks similarly. However, their feelings cannot be denied forever...
1. From Now On

Chapter One: From Now On

Fairy tales and the supernatural just couldn't be real—if they were, James would be Prince Charming, or the supernatural would've taken him away by now for his brutality. My mother didn't know—not right away, at least; I mean, she couldn't have. She always told me from day one that if anyone ever hurt me, to tell her about it, and if she ever got wind of it, she would have done something about it. Had she known every sordid detail, beginning when the relationship first began when I was a fifteen-year-old freshman at my Arizona high school, she would have done something. She would have stopped it; she would have committed murder rather than to see me constantly hurting from it all.

I remembered trudging home that day in the rain; we'd gone to a party on Friday night and James had picked me up from my house and taken me there around four hours after school had gotten out for the day. I was in a new dress I'd saved up for, and somehow my mom approved of it; it was a long-sleeved, knee-length, scoop-necked sweater dress that covered everything, and I even managed to get her to let me wear my knee-high black leather boots. They were intended to be a Christmas present, but since I'd made an 'A' on my trigonometry midterm, my mother agreed that I could have them earlier. I nearly slipped on the heels themselves as I walked down that street, slick with rain, making my way down the block and towards the house my mother and I shared with my stepfather, Phil, a minor-league baseball player.

I mechanically reached for my keys, and it was then that I found that, not only was I completely sopping wet, but my hands were shaking from the double coldness of the metal key. I was now unaware of where my tears ended and where the rain began, and as I walked up the four stairs and towards my front door, I pulled open the screen and attempted to ignore the likely notion that my mascara was smeared down my face. I stuck the key into the lock and stepped inside, nearly slipping on the wooden floor in the lobby as I did so, and found I was tempted to kick off these godforsaken boots, which James said made me looked like a high-priced call girl, and, therefore, ripe for the picking.

"Bella? Is that you, sweetheart?" my mother called; I could hear her in the kitchen, preparing Phil's favorite brownies. He was supposed to be home this weekend, but as I had no idea what time it was, I didn't know if he was back yet. "I would've thought you'd have been home later, honey. James said the party was likely to last a while, and that you would probably crash over at his place..." As she spoke, in her own mindset—lost in making a batch of brownies for her hardworking husband—I hastily locked the back door behind me and walked as carefully into the kitchen as I could. "I know you and James will be safe, honey—I really trust the two of you completely, and I know that—" She had stepped into the entryway of the kitchen, and had stopped dead—mid-stir in the brownie batter—and looked at me with a combination of shock and fear. She nearly dropped the bowl, and hastily placed it on the small table in the breakfast nook and ran for me then, shying back like a frightened cat when she placed her hands upon my arms in a gesture of comfort. "Bella?"

"Yes?"

She peered into my face then, trying to catch a hidden meaning behind my eyes, before she immediately sprang into action. She got me out of my wet clothes and walked me to my bedroom, ordering me into my robe to keep warm, while she bundled my clothes out of there and took them away. She caught me outside my room then, and offered me a glass of water, which I accepted, drinking it slowly. "Bella..."

"Yes, Mom?"

"What happened?" she asked me quietly, carefully walking me over to the couch in the living room, a few feet away from the lobby by the front door. "You're home nearly three hours before your eleven-thirty curfew, honey, and you're dripping wet. James came in his car—didn't he drive you home?"

"No." I shook my head. "He didn't."

"Did you two have a fight, sweetheart?"

"It...it was a misunderstanding," I said quietly, shivering then, and my mother got to her feet again, walking into the main bathroom and returning with a towel, which she used to towel-dry my hair, before wrapping me in the couch's afghan.

"Okay...fight, misunderstanding—I don't care to know the difference right now, Bella. Just tell me what happened. Please," she said, and I locked eyes with hers—chocolate-brown meeting pale blue—and sighed.

I sighed. "I don't know how to say this..." I whispered, the water glass shaking in my hand. "I mean...I don't..."

"Okay, Bella," my mother said, heaving a sigh and growing impatient. "James picked you up here for the party around seven. Things seemed fine then. Were they okay on the drive over to the party?"

I nodded. "For the most part..."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

I bit my lip. "Well...you've been friends with James's dad, Laurent, for a while..."

"Since we moved in, yes," my mother replies steadily. "He's the principal at the local high school, and he helped get me my teaching gig at the elementary school..."

"Well, you...encouraged me to accept James's invitation for a date..."

"Well, honey, you were freshmen in high school, and I knew his father. I also knew James, from the time he was a child, and he's a perfect gentleman. I didn't see a problem with you going out with, or associating with, their family..."

"It's a mask," I whispered.

"What?" my mother asked.

"James's personality... It's a mask," I said, barely raising my voice. I looked around then, almost as if James would be standing by the front door, or one of the windows, with a shotgun, like he'd promised, after our first misunderstanding, on Halloween night, during our freshman year of high school, and again, and again, and again... "It's all a mask, Mom..."

"Honey? What are you talking about?"

I reach out then, placing my water onto the coffee table and across from the couch, before I take ahold of the chord upon my robe and pull it. Beneath, I am wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top, and once I remove it, I hear my mother's gasp immediately. I'd stayed off swimming and other activities, for the most part, that would permit me to show my skin for years, which was considered odd in Phoenix, Arizona. Thankfully, James's family had a pool, and the other half of the time, I was able to lie about the bruises by blaming my klutzy behavior. This was no klutzy behavior—this was the savagery that was my boyfriend, that had plagued me from Halloween of my freshman year of high school, until tonight, when James had escalated further off the charts than I ever thought possible.

"I didn't fall," I said quietly to her then, my voice shaking, despite the fact that I'd rehearsed telling her the truth for years. "James beats me."

"Bella!" she cried out. "Why didn't you say something?"

"He threatened me," I replied, crying openly now, the tears clouding my vision. "He said he would take his dad's shotgun and kill us all—you, me, and Phil—and then he would set the house on fire and make it look like an accident. His mom is a criminal law attorney—he knows all about how to stage a crime scene and cover up evidence..."

"Honey..." my mother whispered, and it is now that I finally choose to allow my eyes to meet hers at long last. "...why are you telling me all this tonight?"

I sighed then, my shoulders deflating. "Because tonight, James did something worse. He did the ultimate, Mom, something that nobody should ever take by force..."

"Bella—"

I let out a sob then before I could call it back. "James raped me, Mom."

. . .

 _It has started innocently enough—James's courtship of me; simple, even, and even though we'd known each other since the age of five, in the school sense, at least, things were different by the time we'd turned fourteen. Eighth grade was in full-swing, and James always counted our first date as the eighth-grade spring fling, although we would not start dating, in the official sense, for another four months. It was the night of my fifteenth birthday, nearly a week after freshman year began, where James asked me out._

 _I never really had a lot of friends growing up, other than James, but when high school began, James was automatically popular due to his dad being principal. I know what you're thinking—nobody messes with the principal's only son, right? Well, you'd be right; however, Principal Parker was the best principal in the tri-state area. He'd gotten a pool installed on campus, and we had the best sports team, marching band and orchestra, and drama department around. In every which way, Principal Parker was amazing—he also talked about body positivity during every school assembly, but he never droned on about it, and was very hip._

 _Once James made it known to the school that I was one of his closest friends, I fell in with the in-crowd pretty much immediately. James made the football team and wrestling team almost without even trying the summer before, and was well-liked by all our peers. Within a week of starting high school, he and I were looked up upon by most of the student body, and it was enough that I had an amazing birthday party at James's parent's house. My mother didn't seem to mind—I think she was just thankful she wouldn't have to clean up any cake that had been smeared into the carpet, which had happened the year before._

 _Most of the party was happening around James's pool; James's father had hired a D.J., plus there was a catering table—the menu of which James and I had picked together. James's house had a projection room, and the films being shown in there were_ The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring _,_ Bridget Jones's Diary _, and_ Spider-Man _, and Principal Parker had placed a temporary sand pit at the base of the yard for a volleyball net. The generous edge of the pool served as a dance floor, and rainbow-colored spotlights darted around the area and danced on the surface of the pool. When James claimed me for the dance, I thought nothing of it, leaving the jealous cluster of girls behind me and setting my punch aside._

" _Happy Birthday," James said, spinning me around briefly before pulling me lengthwise against him, a smile in his eyes. His customary blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail; he'd been growing it out since the summer, and I thought of it as his own personal taste of teenage rebellion, although his father didn't seem to mind. "I had to get you away from those girls—they were hogging the birthday girl."_

 _I lowered my eyes, my dark brown hair falling forward and gracing my cheeks. "Wouldn't think why—everyone's here for you. I'm an afterthought..."_

 _James tightened his grip on me so suddenly that my eyes flew to his. "_ Don't _ever say that, Bella," he ordered, his dark eyes flaring, "_ ever _. I mean it."_

 _Quickly, I nodded. "Sorry. It's just... I mean, you're more popular than I am..."_

 _He shrugged. "Comes with the territory of being the principal's kid, I guess," he replied, his tone nonchalant. "Listen, I wanted to ask you something...in private..."_

" _Sure," I replied, quickly looking around for my mom, but noticing that she was in deep conversation with my new stepfather, Phil, and James's parents, Laurent and Roxanne. "I mean, if I'm being honest..."_

" _What?" James asked as we walked away, turning and looking over his shoulder at my mother, who, while talking to Laurent and Roxanne, was gazing adoringly up at Phil. "Don't you like him?" he asked casually. "Your new stepdad?"_

 _I shrugged as we reached the sandpit, where the people playing attempted to get us to join them, but James helpfully waved them off—me and volleyball don't mix. "I don't know. I mean, he's a nice guy and all, but..."_

" _He's not your father?" James guessed._

 _I shook my head. "No, it's not that. He's just... I don't know; he's six years younger than my mother and it just makes me a little uncomfortable..."_

 _James nodded. "I can't really say I understand, because I really don't," he replied, as he moved to sit along the rock wall at the edge of his parents' property. "I mean, it's not like my parents have divorced or are going to get one..."_

 _I sat next to James. "Yeah, I know. It seems like a lot of the people we know have their parents together...really makes me stick out a bit more..."_

" _I don't know if I ever asked you this... Why did you parents get divorced?"_

 _I pursed my lips. "They got married really young—my mom had me when she was nineteen," I confide in him quietly. "She was going on a spontaneous trip around the Olympic Peninsula with some friends, and met my dad in La Push."_

" _That's in Washington, right? The state, not D.C., right?"_

 _I nodded. "Yeah, Washington State. They met on First Beach, which is in La Push, a small Native American reservation close by Forks and..."_

" _And?"_

" _And she liked him," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "They seemed to really hit it off, but she had to finish the trip, so she left. But she missed him, so she went back, and then when he asked her to marry him, things just seemed to fall into place..."_

" _And then your mom got pregnant?"_

 _I nodded. "Yeah. Let's just say I wasn't a wholly planned affair, but she was happy. My dad's parents were in their forties when he was born—he was a surprise—so I think my dad was probably shocked that they managed to have me at all..."_

" _When did they divorce?"_

" _In March. Next March will be fifteen years since the divorce. My mom just felt trapped, and she missed the sun, being from California and all..."_

" _Do you ever miss you dad?"_

" _Of course; I mean, he's my dad. I love my dad. He's like me—quiet. We look a lot alike, too—our hair is the same color, and our eyes."_

" _He's the police chief, right?"_

" _Yeah, in Forks."_

" _Bella..."_

 _I turned to look at James then; in the setting sun, he looked almost handsome, but I knew it was a trick of the light. One thing that James and I had in common was the fact that neither of us were attractive, and I think that's what made me an easy target. "Yeah?"_

" _I'm not very good at this..." He hesitated for a moment, appearing vulnerable before me, and I think that's what allowed me to be drawn to him. "Would you want to do something sometime? I mean, outside of school..."_

" _James, we always do stuff outside school..."_

" _No, I mean, like a date..." He sighed. "Bella, I'm asking you out. No, I'm not. I'm asking you to be my girlfriend."_

" _Your girlfriend?" I asked, my voice squeaking. "James..."_

" _What? I have feelings for you, Bella. Don't you have feelings for me?"_

 _I lowered my eyes; of course I had feelings for him. He'd made my life change within school overnight by declaring me cool to the cool crowd, and now, I actually looked forward to school as something more than good grades or literature recommendations. Despite the fact that I was a remora to James's shark, I was no longer cool by association; I was full-fledged cool, and James wanted everyone to know it. And, to top it all off, he wanted me at his side at his girlfriend, and not just a geeky friend._

" _Yeah," I said at last. "Yeah. I have feelings for you, James."_

 _He reached out then, fasting his hand in mine, and causing me to raise my eyes to his. "Then be my girlfriend, Bella. Please."_

 _My heart skipped a beat. "Are you sure this is what you want?"_

" _I am," he replied. He closed the distance between us then and kissed me. "I am sure, Bella. I want you to be my girlfriend."_

" _Okay," I replied, smiling. "Does this make you my boyfriend?"_

 _James squeezed my hand. "It does."_

 _I kept right on smiling. "Okay," I said again._

. . .

My mother remained with me on the couch for another two hours until Phil got home, and when he did, throwing down his ever-present baseball-themed duffel bag down in the lobby, she kissed my forehead and immediately got to her feet. Once she got to him, she quickly apologized to him, stating that there would be no welcome home brownies that night, and I thought I caught a flicker of disappointment in Phil's eyes. However, as soon as my mother launched into the reason why, his eyes darted from hers to mine and back again, rapid fire, and, quite soon, his face turned red.

"Who does that little bastard think he is?!" Phil demanded then, immediately stepping into the living room and sitting on the coffee table in front of me. "Are you okay, Bella? Can I get you anything, or do anything?"

I shook my head. "No, thank you," I replied.

Phil squeezed my shoulder briefly, not wanting to push, before getting to his feet. He walked like he was on a mission to the kitchen, and my mother followed him. Phil was obviously doing something in the next room, but when my mother asked what it was, he shushed her. Finally, I heard him speaking again and when I did, I let out a little cry of fear.

"I need a detective—preferably female—at my address immediately," Phil said into our landline, which was located in the kitchen, and both our bedrooms. "It's my stepdaughter, Bella—her boyfriend got a little out of hand at a party tonight," he went on, and I could hear the underlying contempt in his voice. "That's fine. Yes. Thank you very much," he said, and I could hear him replacing the receiver.

"Phil, honey, Bella didn't say that she wanted to press charges—"

"Renée, this is non-negotiable."

"But Phil—"

"Honey, don't you want to see James punished?" he demanded.

My mother sighed, relenting. "Okay. But I won't have Bella pushed. If the detective goes too far with her questioning, that's it—she's gone."

"Agreed," Phil replied, walking after her and back into the living room; this time, my mother held a trash bag in one hand.

"It's your clothes, from tonight," my mother said to my questioning look. "I'm sure the police will want them for...erm...evidence."

I lowered my eyes, feeling my cheeks heating. "I'll bet you're right."

Phil takes the armchair closest to the door, and my mother comes to sit beside me again; we keep waiting in silence for several minutes, until the inevitable knock on the front door causes me to jump in place. My mother quickly takes my hand as Phil gets to his feet, trudging to the door and opening it wide. He lets in the female detective, before he walks into the kitchen to give us some privacy, which I was secretly grateful for.

"Hello, I'm Detective Monroe," said the woman eloquently, crossing the room and shaking my mother's hand. "And you must be Bella."

 _I must be_ , I think to myself, but nevertheless put out my hand. "Yeah, I'm Bella. How are you this evening, Detective Monroe?" I ask.

"Can't complain," she replied, taking the chair my mother had dragged from the dining room table and perching in it, "but I'm altogether aware that these are not common circumstances for either of you. I'm very sorry to be meeting you in this situation."

"Thank you," my mother put in.

"And you're Bella's mother?" Detective Monroe asked.

"Renée," my mother said quickly. "I'm Renée Dwyer."

"Nice to meet you, Renée," Detective Monroe said, pulling a notepad from her back pocket and clicking her pen open. "Can you tell me what happened tonight, Bella?"

I sighed. "James and I were at Chelsea Meadows's party," I say quietly. "Chelsea lives in Arcadia—her parents own their own brain surgery practice out there... She's the head cheerleader," I go on, knowing that these facts can't possibly help, but also hoping that the detective will become so disinterested with me that she'll leave.

"Okay," the detective says, and smiles. "Why don't you tell me how long you and James have known each other?"

"We met when we were five," I reply. "His dad is our high school principal, and he helped get my mom her teaching job at the elementary school."

"And how long did it take before you became a couple?"

"Freshman year," I reply, nibbling on my lower lip, feeling James's hands on me in my subconscious, and tears forming in my eyes at the fact that I never knew if his touch would be loving or dangerous. "It was about a week into the school year—six days," I say quietly, and keep a grip upon my mother, letting her know not to send Detective Monroe away—I needed to say these words that had been bottled up for so long. We became boyfriend and girlfriend on the night of my fifteenth birthday."

Detective Monroe nodded. "Was James always violent?"

My eyes locked to hers—how could she possibly know a thing like that? "W-what?" I asked, my voice shaking.

She smiled sadly. "This is a repetitive pattern in young romances, unfortunately," she told the both of us gently. "The bloom of young love becomes so intoxicating that we find ourselves making excuses for our partners, effectively allowing the abuse to continue. It's not your fault, Bella—in many cases, teens believe that nobody will believe them, or their abusers make threats towards them, effectively keeping them silent, and then compensating by doing their victims a favor or buying them gifts." She hesitates for a moment, not wanting to push me, but also wanting to get to the bottom of this. "Did James threaten you?"

"Yes."

"More than once?"

"Yes."

"How would he threaten you, Bella?"

"His dad has a gun collection," I said quietly, the tears flowing freely now. "James managed to figure out the password for the safe and the glass cases that they're kept in... He said that he would get the biggest gun of his dad's, and then he would kill my mom and stepfather while I watched, and then he would kill me. And then he would set my house on fire in an attempt to destroy all the evidence..."

Detective Monroe shook her head, her dark eyes full of concern as she jotted down my response as quickly as possible, so as not to lose it. "When did this all start?"

"About seven weeks into the relationship," I reply.

"Quick math," Detective Monroe notes.

I sighed. Getting to my feet, I went into my bedroom and, as quickly as possible before my mother ordered her out of the house, I dig beneath my mattress for the brown, leather-bound journal that I'd hidden there. Quickly, I left my bedroom and returned to the living room, and held up my hand to my mother's tirade against Detective Monroe, whereupon I presented the journal to her. "There's everything you need, with the exception of tonight, which I'll tell you about right now."

Detective Monroe looked shocked, flipping through the book quickly, which started on that Halloween night and ended just three days ago. "Oh, my god..." She whispered, her voice filled with amazement. "This goes back over two years," she said quietly.

I nodded. "Everything you need, except tonight, is in there. I'm ready," I told her, and her eyes lock to mine. "I'm ready to tell you everything."

. . .

"One word from his mother, and James will get probation!" I cry out to my mother, nearly blinded by my tears just three weeks later, when James was being held without bail and visitors at the local jail. "He's been found guilty in the court of public opinion, Mom, but the minute I step foot back at school, Principal Parker will find every which way to give me detention, and everyone will want to lynch me before the week is out!"

"Okay, Bella, I'm hearing you," my mother said, her voice patient. "But what do you want me to do here? I mean, do you really want to move to Jacksonville with me and Phil?" she asked, and I felt a glimmer of hope at the notion of it, especially because Phil had gotten a contract with the minor-league team, the Suns.

I sighed then, knowing that it was the first place James would look once he was out of prison, for it was all over the local news that Phil had made the team. "No, I can't," I replied, leaning up against the wall of my bedroom. "I mean... What about dad?"

"What about your dad?"

"Could I go and live with him?" I asked, testing the waters. "It's such a small town, and Dad's the chief of police, so I'd be completely safe..."

My mother sighed. "Are you sure that's what you want, honey?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I mean, small means safe, doesn't it? I'd miss you and Phil, but you'd be safer without me around, and I'd be safer with Dad..."

My mother nodded. "Okay. If that's what you want, I'll call your dad right now. I'm sure he'd jump at the opportunity to have you there."

I close the distance between us then and throw my arms around her. We were the same height, my mom and I, and now it seemed like we were finally of equal standing, due to the fact that we were, effectively, saying goodbye. "Thanks, Mom."

"No problem, honey."

. . .

I spent the next three days packing my belongings and preparing myself for a move that would take me four states away. My mother drove me to the airport, while Phil had already jetted off to Jacksonville to get things settled over there; I heard he had already managed to find a house for him and my mother—one with plenty of space for me, if I changed my mind. My mother and I made small talk on the drive, and when we arrived at the airport, I forced myself not to cry as we said goodbye again.

The two flights—one from Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport to SeaTac, and then from SeaTac in a small plane to Port Angeles—would keep me mentally occupied for hours to come, but I was far too ridged to sleep on the plane. Mom had given Dad the details of what had befallen me at Chelsea Meadows's party, and, needless to say, Dad was beyond pissed off at the prospect of it all. However, he was on strict instructions not to say anything directly to me, unless I brought it up, and he begrudgingly consented.

I nearly slipped from the small plane and into the domain of the airport due to the rainfall as I attempted to put on my coat, but, thankfully, my dad was there to steady me. We managed to find my luggage without incident, and we took the hour-plus drive back to Forks in virtual silence—that's what made us both comfortable, anyway. I was shocked when my father said he had re-decorated my room, as well as the fact that he'd bought me a car from his best friend, Billy Black, who was now the head of the La Push Native American community.

"You remember his twins, right? His daughters, Rebecca and Rachel?"

I shook my head. "Sorry, no."

"They've moved on now, but Jacob's still around—Billy's youngest," my father carefully told me as we drove. "He's about sixteen now—he did most of the work on your car."

"So, what kind of car is it?" I asked carefully.

"A red Chevy—not new or anything. Billy bought it used back in 1984."

I pursed my lips; that was small town for you.

My father helped me in getting my big suitcase up the stairs and into the house, then up the second flight of stairs and into my bedroom. I had my duffel on over my shoulder, plus my carry-on bag, which I gripped in my hand. Stepping into my bedroom, I noticed that the main difference was the fact that my babyhood crib was gone, and in its place was a large, black-iron bed with purple bedding. I thanked my father, who informed me that the salesgirl had picked it out, and I was pleased with it. He placed my suitcase beside the bed, and allowed me to get settled in, in what would be my new home.

I guess a plus-side of all this was that my father didn't hover.

. . .

My first day at Forks High School seemed easy enough; Dad had already taken me on a drive through town to show me where everything was—grocery store, gas station, high school—and I found it would be an uneventful time. But I craved uneventful, given the damage I'd suffered at James's hands almost four weeks ago. With this blessing, he'd given me some cash for the weeks ahead, and I'd planned to go grocery shopping after school. I figured with getting to know the town of Forks, my schoolwork, and cooking, I could actually attempt to put what happened to me behind me, for a while.

I went to the front office on my first morning as a junior at the local high school, getting a slip of paper that my new teachers would need to sign. I thanked the secretary and left the office, going to my first classes, although not without an over enthusiastic welcome from a greasy-looking boy named Eric Yorkie, who wanted my opinion on the school paper. Thankfully, he understood my small-talk, and yet still managed to interpret it just enough to get a quote from me.

I was annoyed to be doing gym so quickly, yet handed over some cash to buy a uniform, but was not looking forward to volleyball. I quickly met Mike Newton and Jessica Stanley, who were both enthusiastic, yet kind, and I agreed to sit with them at lunch. It felt freeing as I changed with Jessica in the locker room just before lunch, to actually have someone to talk to. I didn't contribute much, but that was fine, as Jessica was telling me all the ins-and-outs of the high school, and telling me of her other girlfriends, Angela Weber and Lauren Mallory.

Jessica pulled me towards the lunchroom as soon as we'd finished getting ready, and were permitted to leave by Coach Clapp. Her dark, curly hair bounced up and down as she ran, and it made me smile a little. Finally, at the entrance to the lunchroom, Jessica let me go and darted up to a girl with cornsilk-like hair, while a girl with brown hair with honey-streaks approached me, her eyes kind.

"Jessica texted us," she said, her voice gentle. "You must be Isabella Swan."

"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking her hand. "And it's Bella."

"Angela...Weber," she said, smiling at me. "Come on. We'd better get lunch before everyone else decides they want it first."

We made our way through the lunch line; I found out from Angela that Jessica was speaking to Lauren Mallory, but I found myself pleased to be speaking to someone who did not ask prying questions about my personal life. I got lunch and sat in between Jessica and Angela, listening to the rapid-fire conversation between Jessica and Lauren, pleased that, for the moment, I would not have to contribute. With my past, I didn't think I could handle an interrogation session, and I knew that it would be likely for James to come up somehow.

Bored with the presence of beige on my lunch tray—as well as that was the only color that would apply to Jessica and Lauren's conversation—I raised my eyes upwards to the entrance of the lunchroom, and had to bite down hard on my lip to prevent it from falling open dramatically. I watched then as five beautiful beings entered the lunchroom—the first two were obviously a couple; the girl looked like she belonged on _Vanity Fair_ pronto, and was a blonde bombshell; her boyfriend was taller than she was, and was completely ripped. The second couple was a girl who was close to Jessica's height, and her black hair was cut into a pixie; her boyfriend looked as if he was in pain, which Jessica was now whispering about. The final person was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen—bronze hair, dark eyes, pale skin...

"Who are they?" I asked, when I thought I'd be able to speak coherently again.

"All of them?" Jessica asked, stopping her conversation with Lauren, who was now attempting to eat her Cobb salad.

I shake my head. "No. Him," I say, nodding to the guy who isn't gliding along with an equally-gorgeous female counterpart. "Who is he?"

"That's Edward," Jessica said, rolling her eyes as she tossed her hair, looking away as they all sat at the table furthest away from everyone else. "He's totally gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. Apparently, none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him."

I shrug then. "Doesn't matter, anyway," I reply, deliberately looking away from Edward at the precise moment dark eyes bored into mine. "It's not like I'm here to date. I need to get a degree and get my life in order. That's it. Love is not in the cards for me."


	2. Shadow of a Doubt

Chapter Two: Shadow of a Doubt

I trudged into Biology II after lunch that day; my teacher, Mr. Banner, signed the slip that Ms. Cope had given me, and, of course, gave me a seat beside the infamous Edward Cullen. It took all I could not to roll my eyes at the cliché, although I did readily admit to myself that I found his actions offensive when he covered his mouth in disgust. Perching upon my chair beside him, I found myself inhaling the scent of the strawberry shampoo that my dad had bought for me; I mean, he could've had an allergy to strawberries, sure, or maybe he had a bad memory of some kind associated with them. God knows I had a bad memory smell—James's breath mints; his heavy panting above me had wafted their scent into my mouth, so whenever I smelt or even thought about breath mints—spear mint, to be exact—it made my skin crawl.

I managed to get through the next hour of class and kept my mouth shut; if a guy that knew next to nothing about me—other than my name and, likely, my father's job—and he chose to give me death-glares while in class, that was his problem. I left the class after Edward; he had literally flown from his seat as soon as the bell rang, and accepted Mike Newton's invitation to walk me to my next class, just to be nice. We ended up in English together, where the assigned reading was _Wuthering Heights_ ; I had to admit, I had to try very hard not to smirk when I showed the instructor my own copy, lodged in my bag, the cover bent and a good sixty-percent of the pages in dog-eared condition. I made a mental note then to somehow find a book store; I needed one in better condition, given the look my English teacher had given me.

Once English class had ended, I declined Mike's offer to help me find the front office and made my way there directly. Pulling on my black raincoat, I stepped inside, the heat of the room immediately making me flush from the coldness the hallway had borne. I felt my eyebrows raise automatically then, when I saw Edward in a hushed conversation with Ms. Cope. The nerve of that guy—he hadn't even said two words to me, less than that, even—and he was attempting to transfer out of biology!

"There _must_ be something," I heard him whisper, desperation edging his tone. "Maybe in chemistry or physics—"

 _Idiot_ , I thought to myself, _everyone knows you have to be a senior before you take physics, unless you have written permission_. Although, I reasoned with myself, given his father's profession as resident surgeon, he was likely to get it, somehow. Rolling my eyes, I pushed my way forward, not even waiting for him to see me standing there. I handed over my slip for Ms. Cope to sign, and Edward visibly stiffened beside me; I was very surprised when he did not cover his face again. I gave him a look at Ms. Cope awkwardly signed my very important piece of documentation, narrowing my eyes ever so slightly, letting him know that I had heard his talk with her, and I wasn't too pleased by it.

"Well," Edward said stiffly as Ms. Cope filed away my slip of paper, "I guess I'll just have to suffer through it."

"Suffer?!" I demanded then, and his eyes flashed to mine.

"Yes," he replied. "Suffer."

"You _don't_ even know me, and you talk about suffering," I said, shaking my head. "I hardly think you know the meaning of the word."

"You obviously don't either," he snapped back.

I roll my eyes. "You don't even know me," I shot back, "so don't presume to know what I do and don't know about suffering," I say in a hiss, adjusting my backpack on my shoulders and walking out of the office, to ensure that I get the last word.

It is raining as I step outside then, and I pull up the hood of my coat, careful not to slip on the sidewalk as I walk over to the parking lot. Fishing my keys out of my pocket, I go to unlock the door of my truck and get inside, tossing my backpack onto the passenger seat and slamming the door behind me, locking it for good measure. Looking through the windshield and through the bits of rainwater, I can see Edward Cullen from across the parking lot; he is looking at me, his eyes bearing into me, and I can sense something other than anger behind them. Rolling my eyes, I watch as his brothers and sisters arrive, taking their time as they glide along through the rainfall; Alice Cullen is even dancing, and Jasper looks amused at her antics.

I stick my keys into the ignition and pull out of my parking space; I will not allow anyone to pin me somewhere where I couldn't get out—I'd learned that the hard way. I found myself smiling as the cloud cover darkened, and was pleased that Edward wouldn't be able to stare at me as easily as before. I pulled out of the parking lot within the line of cars, and made my way down the main road in search of the grocery store in the rain. Peeking into my rearview mirror, I saw a silver Volvo just behind me, and I gritted my teeth, tightening my grip upon the steering wheel. I didn't think the surgeon's son would run the police chief's daughter off the road, but I knew I'd have to wait and see to find out.

Thankfully, as I pulled into the grocery store parking lot, the silver Volvo pulled on its way, a red BMW convertible with its top up following suit. That _had_ to be the queen bee's car, I thought to myself as I found a parking space. Checking to see that the wad of cash was still in my pocket, I pulled my hood up and got out of the truck, locking the doors behind me. Walking through the rain and towards the main entrance, I was able to find a shopping cart not dripping with an abundance of raindrops and pulled it after me as I headed inside. As I made my way through the store, familiarizing myself with the layout, for I knew I would be the one doing the shopping, I could hear the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof of the building. It filled me with a sense of comfort, doing something as routine as shopping for dinner for the next week, and found I could grow used to living in Forks.

I gathered some chicken, steak, and pork chops for the next week, as well as boxes of pasta and cous-cous, and a few potatoes. I also stopped by the produce section, selecting broccoli, carrots, and corns, as well as a couple of bags of salads. I made sure to get some fruit as well, a good assortment, and also picked out some cheese. I also stopped by the baking aisle, getting some flour and sugar in case I wanted to do some basic baking around the house, and also selected some cereal and eggs. Passing by the dairy case, I also bought milk before making my way to the check-out lanes, thankful to have the trip over. I handed over some of the cash to pay for the purchases, barely making the dent in the budget my father had given me for the next month. I headed back out with the cart, heavied down with the three purchases, and pulled them into the truck with me, moving my backpack to the well in front of the passenger seat and placing the bags next to one another beside me.

The drive home was uneventful; even though the roads were slippery, I was pleased that I didn't hit any mailboxes along the way. I wondered then how far I'd have to go, out from within the law, for my father to fix things for me. Naturally, if a situation presented itself that was so every day and commonplace that it could be construed as an accident, I assumed that Dad would be able to presumably fix it. However, if it was so far from ordinary, like, say a hit and run against Edward Cullen, I assumed I'd at least get community service out of the deal. As I drove through the rain, I considered Edward's skin—like alabaster—and I couldn't even fathom something, or someone, breaking it.

Pushing Edward Cullen from my mind, I drove up to my father's picturesque white house on the quiet street, knowing that he wouldn't be home until after six. It was after three now, so I had just enough time to at least put a dent in my homework assignments, put away the groceries, and make an attempt to figure out what was for dinner. I pulled my backpack on and slid from my truck, going around to the passenger side and picking up the semi-heavy bags of groceries. I slammed the passenger door shut and locked the door, going around to the front of the house and fishing my key out from my raincoat pocket and letting myself inside. Shutting the door behind me, I locked up automatically and walked past the stairs and through the living room, making my way into the kitchen.

I hung my backpack over one of the chairs, before placing the various grocery bags onto the counter and going through them, putting away the perishables and going through my father's cupboards to see if he had any form of system. Thankfully, he was living in the past in the kitchen as well as the living room—given that his wedding photo to my mother was proudly on display near the T.V.—and the pantry system was the same as what my mother and I had put together in Phoenix. Shaking my head, knowing that my father would move on when he was good and ready, and pleased that he had not allowed his love for my mother to derail his life completely, I placed the pantry things into their allotted spaces and cleaned the kitchen a bit. It was a real mans' space, as there was no dishwasher, so I made quick work by scrubbing the dinner dishes from the night before, plus my morning cereal bowl, and my father's mug that he'd used for coffee.

Once the kitchen was tidy enough, I quickly washed my hands and replaced the dish towel, hanging from the oven, and brought it to the laundry room, where I threw it into the machine, and made a mental note to do a load later. I returned to the kitchen temporarily and made a grab for my backpack, trudging upstairs and heading into my bedroom. I walked over to my desk and plunked into the chair, having just enough space around the oversized desktop computer to have some homework room. Looking though my assignments—a double-sided math assignment from trig; an outline for our upcoming essay on _Wuthering Heights_ for English; a brief history of our era of choice for European History, which we would then turn into an essay; and a lab outline for Biology II, I decided to focus on trig for a while. My other assignment, for Spanish, was an easy word conjugation piece, which I could do in under twenty minutes and likely could even do at lunch tomorrow, provided that Jessica Stanley didn't talk my ear off again. I shook my head then, a _Be nice, Bella_ , flaring brightly in my mind temporarily, and I found myself smirking at my trig assignment.

I'd finished my trig paper and my lab outline for Biology II by four-thirty, and in that time, I decided to make a macaroni and cheese casserole with chicken and some simple steamed vegetables for dinner. I went back downstairs and into the kitchen, setting up a pot of water to boil the pasta in, and took out the chicken, dicing it up with some onion and garlic before putting it into a pan with some oil. Once the chicken was browned accordingly, I set it aside to focus on the macaroni, and, once that was done, greased a casserole dish and put it all inside, mixing it up with a generous amount of cheese sauce I'd made. I also topped it, to create a cheese crust, and selected some spinach, which I decided I would steam in a pan after the casserole came out of the oven.

As I inhaled the scene my dinner was making, I headed back upstairs to bring down the progress of my essay outline, intending to work on it while I waited for dinner, and for my father, to return home that evening. I also brought down the instructions for my history essay outline, in case I got to it, as I didn't want to solely rely on T.V. for entertainment while my father was out of the house. I'd finished my outline close to six, and checked on the casserole, taking off the tin foil I'd put on top so as the top would turn golden-brown. I'd finished my essay outline for _Wuthering Heights_ and stretched my legs by walking the length of the house, and noticed a red light upon the answering machine. I pressed the button, hoping that I wasn't being intrusive, and was pleased to hear my mother's voice.

"Surprised Phil in Jacksonville today—it's absolutely beautiful out here, Bella," she gushed on the other end of the phone. "I'm sure you're probably in school right now—the time difference over here is in _sane_! Listen, honey, I didn't think you'd be avidly researching what's been going on down here, but I thought you should know that James is looking at a one to three year sentence for what he did to you. I know it doesn't seem like a lot, but you'll be applying to colleges by then and you could be halfway around the world. And you have that restraining order in place, that applies to Phoenix, Forks, and Jacksonville—Charlie called in some favors," she explains, almost as if that makes everything better. "I know it's going to be a big adjustment—the move, and being single—but I know you'll be all right. You're like your father in more ways than you think, and living with him will be good for you—you'll see. Oh, okay, Phil!" she says, after I've heard my stepfather's familiar voice telling her something. "We're going to start really looking at houses out here today, sweetheart. Call me by the end of the week—I want to know how you're settling in! I love you, honey—talk soon."

There is the customary click at the end of the call, and I'm convinced she is calling from a hotel room she managed to spring somehow. I reach out and delete the message, knowing full well that it wouldn't be helpful for my father to hear her voice very much. I check the time again, and see that it is now a few minutes past six, and that I should probably start the vegetables. I head back to the kitchen, clearing up my homework stuffs and putting it out onto the coffee table in between the couch and the T.V. Once I head back to the kitchen, I get the spinach out of the refrigerator and bring it to the stove, where I situate a pan and put some oil into it. Once the spinach is steaming away and has been for a few minutes, I hear a key turning in the lock of the front door, and know that dinner should be ready very soon.

"Bell?" I hear from the front door.

 _Who else would it be_? I think to myself. "In here, Dad!" I call. I can hear him taking off his gun belt and such and his heavy footfalls as he trudges into the kitchen. "Dinner should be ready in a few minutes!" I call over my shoulder.

"Smells delicious," he comments, walking over to the casserole and inhaling for a moment, before crossing to the fridge and putting away a six-pack. "Hey, will I have time to shower and change before we eat?"

I nodded; he was always fairly quick about those sort of things. "Yeah, no problem," I reply. "It will be a few more minutes, anyway."

"Thanks, Bella," he says with a sigh of relief, obviously grateful, and heads out of the kitchen and up the stairs, where he heads into his bedroom to presumably take off his uniform before getting into the shower.

I cover the vegetables to steam completely, turning the heat to low so as the leaves of the spinach won't burn, and cover the casserole with foil so as it won't get cold. I then return to the table, and pull along my schoolwork with me, and make a few notes on the eras I do happen to know about, and the facts that I know about them. I know a decision won't just come to me, and that I probably should be diplomatic about all this—I mean, I was a junior, and colleges would likely be looking at me at some point in the near future. I had to impress my teachers, especially because I was new to town, and I didn't want them to think that if they failed me in class, that my father would arrest them. No, I had to work as hard as I always had—which hadn't been too hard, as I spent all my time reading about various subjects, and so I knew I had enough general knowledge about school topics to pass the classes.

I could hear the pipes turn off through the house and, thinking that I had decent enough headway to quit while I was ahead, I gathered up my homework again and returned it to the coffee table in the living room. Next, I washed my hands and set the table, retrieving napkins from a drawer and keeping the plates near me, so as I could dish up the casserole and the spinach. I could hear my father leaving the bathroom and heading into his room to change, and so I finished setting the table and poured some coke for myself and got a can of beer for him. I set the plates on the table just as I heard his door open, and he came out onto the landing and down the stairs pretty promptly after that. I smiled at him, allowing him to pull me into an awkward hug as he moved to sit across from me.

"Smells really good, Bells," he says, plunking down in the seat and opening his can of beer and drinking it down. "When did you learn to cook?"

"By twelve or thirteen," I reply. "I took over bookkeeping at ten."

"Really?" he asked, half to himself, raising his dark eyebrows for a moment before picking up his fork and putting his napkin in his lap. "Well, if it tastes as good as it looks, I don't think I'll need to depend on takeout again...for a while, at least."

I smirked then, copying his movements, spreading out my napkin into my lap. "Well, thankfully the schoolwork isn't too difficult. We're reading _Wuthering Heights_ in English class right now, and I started reading that the summer before freshman year."

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, stabbing his fork into the spinach, and tasting it, his eyes rolling back in a moment of satisfaction. "Do you know what other books are on the assigned reading list for the rest of the year?"

"I looked," I reply, "and it looks like we have two other books to read after this one— _Nineteen Eighty-Four_ and _Anna Karenina_ ," I tell him.

"Ah, Russian literature," my father says, tasting his serving of casserole and shaking his head at the thought of it. "It's never been a friend of mine."

"It hasn't?"

"No," he tells me. "Where you always have your nose in a book, I'm out fishing with Billy Black and Harry Clearwater. You remember Harry?"

I shrug. "Barely," I say, eating my dinner. "About as much as Billy."

"Billy's a widower, but Harry's still happily married to his wife, Sue," he explains. "They've got two kids of their own—Leah, who's about a year older than you, and a son, Seth. Seth's starting high school in the fall."

I nodded. "Sounds like a pretty tight community over there."

"Here, too," my father tells me. "Did you meet anyone at the old high school today? Any friends at all?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I met this guy Eric Yorkie on the way to class—pretty talkative. And then there was Mike Newton, Jessica Stanley, Angela Weber, and Lauren Mallory."

"The Newtons own the sports department store just outside of town—good kid, good family," he tells me in between bites. "I've never had to give his parents a speeding ticket."

I smirk over my glass of coke. "Well, he's certainly better mannered than the Cullen's," I mutter under my breath.

"You met Dr. Cullen's kids?"

I shrug. "Well, yeah—they're kind of hard to miss and all."

"You met all of them?"

I purse my lips at the memory, immediately thinking that "met" was not the best way to describe my interaction with Edward Cullen at all. "Mainly Edward Cullen," I reply. "Mr. Banner made us lab partners in Biology II. He doesn't talk much, when he's not attempting to get a schedule change," I mutter.

"A schedule change?" he demanded. "What do you mean?"

"Dad, it's fine," I reply, shrugging. "I may be slightly at fault, too. I mean, I did kind of assume that he was doing it because of me, and I may have..."

"What, Bella?"

I stared up into my father's eyes, an exact copy of my own. "I may have yelled at him for it," I answer honestly. "I mean, he was so standoffish, and thankfully we didn't have to complete a lab assignment today, or else I think I would've failed."

My father sighed, leaning back against his chair. "I need to know if people are giving you the business, Bella. I'm not chief of police of this town for nothing. The next time someone says or does something that makes you uncomfortable, you let me know. Okay?"

I nodded, dragging the tongs of my fork along a bit of the pasta upon my plate. "Loud and clear, Dad—I get it."

He sighed again, casually reaching forward and picking up his fork. "Listen, Bells, I don't want to make you uncomfortable either—and your mother made me swear not to bring it up—but this is my house, and I'm not duty-bound to her anymore."

I looked up. "Dad?"

"Your mom mention that your...erm...restraining order against that bastard applies to Forks as well as Phoenix and Jacksonville?"

I lower my eyes again, feeling myself automatically hunching my shoulders. "Yeah—she left a message on the machine, detailing the outcome of the trial..."

"The jury reached a verdict already, then?"

I shake my head. "No, but it should be soon. Mom mentioned that he's going to be looking at one to three years for what he... For what happened."

He nodded. "Of course, if it were up to me, I'd lock him up and throw away the key, but, fortunately for him, he's out of my jurisdiction."

I purse my lips. "Yeah. Luckily."

"Were you together a long time?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah—that's why I put my foot down and told you to come to California for two weeks every summer, instead of me coming up here, when I turned fourteen. Even though James and I weren't dating yet, he was sowing the seeds, so to speak. He made me depend upon him so much that I felt like I had to do whatever he asked."

My father tightened his grip upon his fork. "I'll never forgive what he did to you, Bella—I know you had to testify that he was drinking, but I just hope that you—"

I shake my head, cutting him off. "No, Dad—I don't drink. I mean, Mom had a glass of wine with dinner every now and again, and I would have an occasional sip, but not at a party. Mom always preached the safety of an environment. The house..." I shrug. "I mean, it was nice, and it was in a good neighborhood, but something told me not to trust it, so I declined every red plastic cup shoved at me."

My father nods. "Good... And you and James, before that night, you'd never...?"

I shake my head again. "No—not because I think it's wrong or anything, sex before marriage. I just never really..." I find myself wrapping my arms around myself, not really knowing why, but feeling the need to create some kind of barrier between myself and the world. "I guess I just wasn't ready to do that."

"And he's the only guy you've dated?"

I nodded. "The one and only. I kissed a couple guys before him—but mostly on dares. It beat eating dirt," I say, and I remember doing the latter under similar circumstances.

"Nothing wrong with kissing—as long as it's done with permission."

"It was."

My father nodded, slowly eating his dinner again, and the subject was closed.

. . .

That night, after finishing the cleaning of the kitchen and watching football on the tube with my father, I went upstairs and drafted several outlines on several potential eras of my history class. I ultimately narrowed it down to three—the 1910's, the Great Depression, and Medieval England, but couldn't decide. I wouldn't have to decide until the following Monday, however, so I quickly sped through my Spanish homework before heading to the shower.

The shower calmed me before I headed to bed, calling goodnight to my father, who was still downstairs and watching T.V.—I guess his team was winning. I set my alarm for seven the following morning and got into bed, turning off the lamp upon my bedside table and lying down upon my back. Shutting my eyes and pulling my grandmother's quilt around me, I attempt to sleep in what is my second night in my hometown...

 _I walked along a darkened wood; there appeared to be smoke wafting in between the thick, gnarled tree trunks, and I found that, compounded by the unfamiliar terrain, I became fearful that I was being watched. As I walked through the smoke, I heard the faint sound of crackling around me, but the more I searched, the smoke seemed to thicken around me._

 _It was then that I heard footsteps behind me, and when I turned around, there was a flash of something, and then there was a strong body behind me. Before I could scream, a hand came around my waist then, before a second hand covered my mouth. As I was pulled away from that place, I could feel the familiarity of the hands, and it made me sick to recollect the thoughts that now swam around in my mind._

" _No," I managed to get out as I was dragged away. "James, don't! James, please! James, please, please, don't!" I yelled, just as I had done that night._

 _And then there was a flash of alabaster, and the weight of James's body pressed against mine was suddenly lifted. As I turned around, I saw that James was gone, and I sighed a sigh of relief, and yet, I still peered curiously through the direction James had presumably gone. Blinking, I tried to see through the smoke, but could see nothing._

" _Who are you?" I called out._

 _Then, through the smoke, an alabaster hand crept through, almost hesitantly. I felt just as hesitant in my actions then, but, nevertheless, knew I had to walk towards it. I stepped forward, only to be greeted by the jarring sound..._

My eyes flashed open then, and I realized that my alarm clock was waking me up to ensure that I wouldn't be late to school. I gathered my things methodically, grabbing my jacket to ensure that I wouldn't get rained on, and headed outside. I was careful not to slip on the landing of the small set of stairs outside, and loaded my backpack into my truck and went off down the street. My dad must've had an early day, because I noticed the police cruiser was gone.

The Cullen's were short a member of their crew that day, and it was of slight surprise to me that Edward Cullen was missing from their quintet. I deliberately threw myself into conversation with Angela during lunch—ignoring Jessica's annoying comments and Lauren's dirty looks—and did the same with my schoolwork that day. Nothing would make me dwell upon my past, or the bad dream I'd had the night before—nothing.

When I got home from school, I started preparations for stuffed pork chops for dinner, having picked up some herbed breadcrumbs from the grocery store after school had gotten out. I also decided to make baked potatoes that evening, and hoped that my father would enjoy the meal, knowing that I could have a future in cooking, at least in some respect. I did my homework while dinner was preparing and cooking, and my father got home at six o'clock that evening, and again commented on how good dinner smelled.

The days successfully began to blur together; the only highlight was on Saturday afternoon when I spoke to my mother. She told me that she and Phil had found a house and were thinking of putting in an offer on it, and I couldn't help but be happy for her. My mother deserved to be happy, but, then again, so did I. I didn't know what happiness meant to me anymore, but I sure wanted to find out.

The rest of the weekend passed smoothly, with my father and I having salmon for Sunday dinner, freshly caught that same afternoon. I threw myself into my assignments, freeing myself up for the next week, even though I knew I wouldn't have much to do with myself other than catch up on some personal reading. I went to bed early on Sunday night, tired from doing so many homework assignments, and had the same dream I'd had a week before...

"Earth to Bella!" Jessica said, taking me out of my humdrum thoughts of my weekend and my overdoing of homework assignments. "Aren't you listening?"

"What?" I asked, taking a bite of my applesauce to distract myself from the exasperation behind her tone. "What is it, Jess?"

"Edward Cullen is staring at you."

"He—what?!" I demanded, not even noticing that he was back. Turning, I saw him blatantly staring at me from his table across the way, and how his brother's and sister's, although not trying to be obvious about it, were all giving him looks of annoyance. "So?" I said, turning my back on him and returning to my lunch.

"So?!" Jessica cried. "He's a god!"

I shrug. "I know—he certainly behaves like one," I mutter, knowing he won't be able to hear me, but it feels good to say all the same.

"What do you mean?" Jessica asks, and I see her peeking at him again.

"Gods were considered tyrannical creatures, Jess," Angela put in quietly. "Remember? We did a Greek mythology unit just before Christmas."

"Who can remember back that far when there are far more important things to consider in ones lives?" Lauren asked, tossing her hair.

"Maybe," Angela said.

"You're right, Lauren," Jessica cut across her. "Completely right."

I turned and looked up at Angela, smiling, letting her know that I knew what she was talking about and appreciated her support. I returned to my lunch, fading in and out for the rest of the day, yet managing to appear somewhat polite when Edward Cullen engaged me in conversation in Biology II after lunch. Although he did introduce himself—and the pretty boy _did_ apologize for being "unable to do so last week"—I still wasn't about to forgive his behavior and fall into his arms.

 _No_ , I don't myself. _No more falling for the charms of the opposite sex, Swan. You've learned your lesson—move on_.

When I got back home after school, I prepared meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner, wanting to do something somewhat labor intensive to keep my mind off of Edward Cullen's seemingly polite behavior. I knew Dad had gone into see Dr. Cullen for his annual physical the previous week, and maybe he'd mentioned Edward's behavior towards me. That had to be it, didn't it? Dr. Cullen had obviously told Edward that his behavior was unacceptable, and that he had to learn to be polite to me in public. Not that it objectively mattered...

The dream came back again that night—maybe it was Edward Cullen's interrogation session on me the former afternoon in Biology II. All I know is, I saw an outline of a face in the smoke gathered around me, and the thought of who it was made me uneasy. When I was just about to take the hand of whoever my savior had been, the sound of my alarm filled my ears, and I let out a groan of frustration when I saw it had snowed the night before.

I was shocked to see that my father had put chains around my tires, and made an effort to remember to thank him for it later. As I drove to school, I decided to make something with chicken that night, but couldn't fathom what. I got out of my truck, spotting Edward Cullen standing four cars away, and puled my hat down around my ears and my scarf closer to my throat. I zipped up my coat, and made an effort not to slip on the black ice on the parking lot surface. Just as I was gathering my things together, zipping my backpack closed, I heard a screech behind me—a screech of unprotected tires on a surface of covered black ice, and as I turned, my stomach dropped.

I felt myself inhale then in a moment of shock, turning to look at Edward Cullen, not fully understanding why I wanted my last thoughts to be of him, after all the hell he had put me through, in the psychological sense. I turned and looked at the van again, which was coming at top speed towards me, with no intention of stopping, or ability to do so. I recognized Tyler behind the wheel—another friend of Mike's and Eric's—and didn't know what I expected impending death to feel like, but certainly not like this. Then, suddenly, Edward was standing beside me, just as the van came inches from flattening me completely, and reached out, shoving it away from me almost effortlessly. Then, I must have fallen to my knees, for the impact of me lying on black ice was not as severe as I initially believed it would be.

"Bella? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Be careful," he said, pinning me to the ground. "You hit your head—"

" _Don't_ touch me!" I cried out, my eyes flying open in fear, and Edward immediately let me go and moved away from my personal space bubble, not wanting any false accusations that day. "I, I mean...sorry," I said, and slowly managed to pick my head up from the coldness of the ground and shivering slightly. "I mean...you _did_ save me..."

He smiled a little. "You're right. I did."

"But—you were four cars away," I said, and he looked fearful that I made such a sudden declaration against him. "You were too far to even—"

"Bella," he said, his voice hard, "I was next to you the entire time."

I shake my head, looking away from his piercing eyes—I could not take his god-like features swimming around in my fuzzy head anymore. "This makes no sense," I muttered.

"Bella, I was next to you the entire time—"

"You weren't," I reply, my tone biting as people are in a flurry around us, attempting to get through and to get Tyler out of the van, "but that's beside the point."

"And what point is that, Bella?" Edward asked, slightly impatient.

"The point being that you hate me," I reply, narrowing my eyes at him. "The point being that you should have let that van smash me. You saving me makes no sense, Edward Cullen—physical or emotional sense."

"Hate—wow, is that what they call it these days?" Edward said under his breath as he got to his feet, to make the extraction process so much easier, so that there wouldn't be needing the jaws of life. "I don't hate you, Bella."

I shrug. "Could've fooled me," I mutter.

He shakes his head. "Somehow, I doubt that," he replies, hopping effortlessly over to the bed of my truck, before getting over onto the other side, so as the authorities can step im and take me out of the wreckage.


	3. Taking Liberties

Chapter Three: Taking Liberties

I am placed in an ambulance en route to the hospital, and something inside me sinks when I know that my father will be notified about this—small town, you know?—and that I will likely meet Edward's father, Dr. Cullen. The neck brace, as well as being strapped to a gurney, was a humiliating experience, and as we whizzed down the street to the hospital, I felt myself seething inside that Edward got to ride up front. Once we arrived, several EMT's came forward to haul me out of the ambulance, and I heard a siren entering the parking lot then, and my mouth fell open at the sight of my father dashing across the parking lot—ignoring the slickness of the ice upon its surface—and ran towards me.

"Dad, I'm fine," I managed to get out, wanting to take off the neck brace and throw it at the EMT's in a moment of frustration, as Edward smirked as he walked by. I grimaced as he leaned down, kissing my forehead as I was pushed into the hospital. I was permitted out of the gurney, as well as the neck brace, and as I perched on the bed, my father at my side, I bit my lower lip as I considered what happened.

"Bella? Are you hurt?"

I looked up, my dad staring anxiously at me. "It could've been worse..."

"Bella..."

I sighed. "Edward saved me," I replied, lowering my eyes, hunching my shoulders in a moment of self-consciousness. "It's crazy—I mean, I thought he hated me..."

The doors open behind us then, and as I look up, I see a striking man with blond hair and a kind expression on his face. "And this must be Isabella," he said, smiling at me before looking over at my father. "Charlie."

"Dr. Cullen," my dad said formally as Dr. Cullen came over to me and looked over my clipboard, pinned to the edge of my bed. "Well, the EMT's were pretty thorough with you, it seems, Isabella... You were very lucky."

"Bella," I said quietly.

He raised his eyes to mine for a moment before making some notes. "It says here that you told them that Edward saved you..."

I nodded. "Yeah—I guess manners can be deceiving," I say as he sets the clipboard aside and shines a light in my eyes to make sure I didn't have a concussion.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, he's rude, Dr. Cullen," I reply.

"Bella!" my father cried out.

"Dad, honesty is always the best policy," I reply through my teeth as Dr. Cullen puts away that light stick and purses his lips.

"Well, I'll have a word with my son—he can be a bit wary of strangers, unfortunately, and it sometimes gets the better of him."

"Please do," I reply. "We're lab partners in biology, and I would hate to have one that clearly hates me for no good reason."

Dr. Cullen looked unsure for a moment before looking at my clipboard again. "You said here that Edward was standing four cars away from you before the accident..."

I nodded. "Yeah. He was."

"...and then you go on to say that he pushed the truck away from you." Dr. Cullen smiled, almost as if he didn't want to get arrested for speaking ill of my account of the accident. "Bella, you do realize that such a thing is impossible, don't you?"

I smiled at him—after all, I was to think that the Cullen's were only human, but something was amiss here, and I was determined to figure out what it was. "Whatever you say, Dr. Cullen—you obviously know your family better than I do," I replied, my voice really saying, _I'm not a complete idiot—there's some bullshit going on around here, and you may have the town fooled, but I'm not that easy, and whatever is going on here, I will find out what it is_.

"Bella!" my father said again. "Please excuse her, Dr. Cullen—I think Bella must have hit her head during the accident..."

Dr. Cullen's eyes never left mine, but something seemed to shift inside him then, but it was so quick that I may have missed it. "Of course, Charlie," he said, looking quickly at my father with a tight smile. "Tell Bella to get plenty of rest, and have her take the rest of the week off school—I mean, we wouldn't want to have anything bad happening to her..."

"I'm fine," I said, my voice firm. "I don't have a concussion, Dr. Cullen, and you said yourself that I was very lucky. If you want me to stay away from your son, that's fine—if it were up to me, I wouldn't have anything to do with him anyway."

I narrow my eyes at him, getting to my feet and, mercifully, I do not fall onto the hospital floor, and I'm able to walk out of the recovery ward and into the hallway. As I do so, I can hear my father apologizing to Dr. Cullen on my behalf, and I roll my eyes—how dare he treat that family as if they were royalty, when they were merely royal pains in the ass! Looking down a hallway to make a quick escape from this glorified freak show, and see Edward talking to his sister, Rosalie Hale, whose blonde hair resembles a halo around her perfect face. She sees me first and narrows her eyes at me, causing Edward to turn around.

"Can we talk?" I ask, crossing my arms, and Rosalie lets out a quick noise of exasperation before stamping her foot and taking off in the opposite direction.

Edward gave an annoyed expression in Rosalie's direction before he turned around completely and walked over to me. "What do you want to talk about?"

I rolled my eyes. "Why you did what you did, god," I hissed at him, and, as he stared at me, he looked shocked at my declaration.

"I saved your life, and you're questioning it?" he demanded under his breath. "I mean, I think you should be thanking me, not demanding information or anything..."

I try to keep my temper with him. "Well, at least your dad knows my opinion of you," I reply, leaning up against the edge of the wall.

"You met my father?" he demanded.

I raised my eyes upwards, and they immediately locked to his. "Of course—at this very moment, my dad is attempting to appeal to his good side to clear my good name."

"Why would he need to do that?"

I crossed my arms. "Because I told him the truth—that you were suddenly next to me, and that, clearly, manners are deceiving."

"What does that mean?"

"What does that m—" I cut myself off deliberately, exasperation in my tone. "It means that you didn't owe me anything, Edward," I say, and his eyes soften temporarily when I use his name for the first time—his eyes were a brilliant topaz, not a color I commonly associated with human eyes, but I supposed that that too way part of the mystery. "It means that, clearly you dislike me for some reason, and now I'm going to feel guilty for someone who clearly hates me saved my life earlier today. How do you think that's supposed to make me feel?"

Edward's jaw sets then. "Jeez, Bella—you would think you'd be a little more grateful. If it weren't for me, Tyler's van would've flattened you—killed you, even."

"Then why didn't you just let it?" I ask him, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why wouldn't you have let his van squash me? You don't owe me anything..."

He shakes his head. "No, I don't. Maybe I'm masochistic or something..."

I scoff then. "That would explain a lot of things, now wouldn't it?" I say, my voice laced with sarcasm as I uncross my arms. "I don't understand you, Edward—if you hate me so much, why in the hell would you save my life?"

"I told you as much after the accident, Bella—I don't hate you."

I shake my head then. "Well, you've sure got a hell of a way of showing it otherwise," I reply. "I mean, you acted like my scent revolts you," I tell him, and I see him visibly stiffen at that, "and then you disappeared for a week. Then, suddenly, you're back at school, and you're acting all, I don't know, saccharine or something..."

Edward smirks slightly at that. "Saccharine?"

I nodded. "Exactly. I don't do well with about-faces, Edward—god knows I've had to deal with them before..."

Something flashes across his vision then, only to be replaced with his eyebrows knitting together in a moment of frustration. "Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

I blink in shock—I knew I'd already thanked him, but maybe the members of the Cullen family expected more than just one show of gratitude. "Thank you," I replied, my tone biting—the words had come unbidden from my lips; I'd wanted to make him work for it a bit more, due to his treatment of me.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"No."

"In that case... I hope you enjoy disappointment."

Then, he was walking away from me, and I was left standing there like a total idiot, until I heard footsteps behind me. Turning, I saw Dr. Cullen taking off after Edward, and my father was just behind him. I scowled at him before turning away, and he awkwardly offered my raincoat to me, which I took and casually put on around me. As we walked towards the entrance of the hospital, I moaned inwardly as I saw the seas of faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of me—or, more likely, Edward—and to demand to know if we were all right. I spotted Mike, Jessica, and Eric among them, and, thankfully, I was led out of there by my father, and I felt annoyed at the prospect of getting into his police cruiser, but, nevertheless, did so.

"Your mom is expecting you to call..."

I whipped around to face my father then, unsure if I'd heard him correctly. "I'm sorry. What?" I asked—more like demanded, but I had been through a lot that day...

My father cleared his throat. "Sorry kid—I have to keep enough secrets on the job," he said, and made an attempt to keep his tone gentle, although I'm sure he was pretty pissed at how I'd acted in front of Dr. Cullen. "You call her when we get home."

"I have homework, and..." I trailed off. "It's in the truck—everything's in—"

"I'll pick up your truck, or I'll have someone from the station handle it," he said gently. "Just give me your keys when I drop you off."

"You're not staying?" I asked.

He hesitated for a moment. "Do you need me to?"

I shook my head. "No, it's fine," I replied. "I'll need your key to get in, though."

Once we arrived back at the house, I ripped the key from my father's hand and slammed the door of the police cruiser behind me. I was relieved when I heard him pulling out of the driveway as I made my way up the stairs, and was relieved when I didn't slip upon them. I made sure to hide the key underneath the mat so as he could get inside later, after I let myself in. Immediately, I trudged into the living room, where I picked up the landline and dialed my mother's cell phone number, the one she had made me swear to memorize in case of emergency.

"Bella!" she practically screamed on the other end of the phone, as soon as we'd managed to establish a connection. "Baby, please tell me you're okay!"

"I'm fine, Mom," I said, fighting to keep my tone from being clipped. "Really. Just a few scratches and bruises."

 _I'd had worse, big time_.

She sighed on the other end of the phone—I knew she knew what I was thinking. "Bella, don't be like that with me, please. I want you to come home."

I sighed. "Mom, for one thing, you're in Florida," I said. "And for another, Phoenix is no longer my home. Besides, you know as well as I do that I can't go back."

"I know, honey—I'm sorry. I forgot for a minute," she said, sadness in the back of her voice. "I should remember these things, or at least learn to think before I speak..."

"Mom, it's okay," I say, leaning up against the wall. "There's a lot of that going on right now. I think I pretty much ruined Dad's reputation with the doctor's family out here..."

"What doctor?" she asked.

"Dr. Cullen," I replied. "Him and his wife have five kids that go to my school—three sons and two daughters... One of them is in my class...he saved my life today..."

"Saved your life?" my mother asked. "How do you mean?"

"He was standing right near me when it happened, thankfully," I say; I hated to lie, but I seemed easier than to just tell people that Edward Cullen had lifted a van off of me—it sounded near impossible to believe, even from me, who had the word "Honesty" tattooed onto her forehead, figuratively speaking, at least. "He saved me—he pushed me out of the way. If he hadn't," I go on, shaking my head, "let's just say I wouldn't be talking to you right now."

"Is he cute?" she asked.

"He's a jerk," I replied automatically, shuddering. "Doesn't matter anyway—I'm kind of turned off the whole dating thing, for obvious reasons."

"Of course," my mother replied, and I could almost see her admonishing herself for her words all over again. "I can understand that."

We chatted for a few more minutes, and thankfully my mother allowed me to get off the phone and rest, but if there was anything else I didn't want to do, it was rest. Instead, I decided to attempt to write an outline for my history essay, having decided to write about the Spanish Flu epidemic that had plagued America in the 1910's. I didn't know why I'd chosen it, and then it came to me—I didn't know much about that period of America, and it would permit me to think, as I did not want my mind to shut down completely.

I worked for a couple of hours, and then received an email from my father that someone from the station would be along to drop off my truck, along with my school supplies. They would leave the keys in the ignition, and then they would put my backpack on the porch. The officer arrived in good time, and I heard footsteps on the front stoop, and the telltale clunk of my backpack landing on the porch. Once I was sure the officer had left, I went downstairs to get my backpack, before heading into the kitchen to get something for lunch.

. . .

I managed to politely decline Mike's, Eric's, and Tyler's offers to the upcoming spring dance, because dancing had never been my thing, and the last time I'd gone somewhere with a boy, I'd ended up scarred completely for life. I did, however, suggest to Jessica and Angela that they go to the dance with Mike and Eric respectively, and even mentioned for Lauren to go with Tyler, as she seemed to have a crush on him. I kept quiet for most of the week, which was pretty easy to do, given that I wasn't in the mood to have any screaming matches with Edward Cullen—in fact, he was avoiding me, and I liked it better that way.

Winter had finally seemed to be on the verge of melting away, and February passed, and the notion that I was spending Valentine's Day as a single girl didn't faze me. As I focused on my ongoing assignments, I hardly noticed that Edward's demeanor had changed from completely stoic to that of curious—he seemed genuinely interested in the notion that I was content to ignore him, and it seemed to infuriate him at the same time. I didn't care, for it honestly didn't matter to me, and as March began, I became content to have him fade away into the background, although I knew that would never be possible for a guy like Edward Cullen.

"Jess and I need to go buy dresses for the dance," Angela said to me one day in the lunch line, and I actually bothered to listen, for I actually liked Angela, and though she seldom spoke, I always listened when she did.

"Where do you buy dresses in Forks?" I asked, and Angela smiled.

"You don't. We're going to Port Angeles."

Port Angeles was much larger than Forks was, and I knew immediately that I'd be able to finally find a bookstore for something to read. "Mind if I go?" I ask her. "I need to get some books to occupy our time..."

"Duh!" Jessica said, butting into our conversation as she whipped around. "We'll need your opinion on the dresses we buy, _obviously_!"

I smiled at Jessica—a forced smile, but I didn't think she'd be able to tell the difference. "Great, can't wait," I replied. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow night," Jessica replied.

"Will your dad mind?" Angela asked.

I shook my head. "No, he'll be cool with it," I replied, mentally making a note to make enough that night for dinner for leftovers the next day.

"So, what are you doing this weekend?" my father asked later that night over our dinner of spaghetti and meatballs—my grandmother's recipe.

"Jessica and Angela were wondering if I could go to Port Angeles with them tomorrow night," I said casually, knowing that the next day was a Tuesday, but I had already done most of my homework for the week over the weekend. "I know it's a school night, but I'm ahead in all my classes, and Jessica's going to be driving."

My father mulled it over for a moment. "Jessica and Angela seem like really nice girls," he replied, taking a bite of his dinner. "Go and have fun."

I smiled. "Thanks," I replied.

The following day after school, Jessica, Angela, and I got into Jessica's car and drove the hour between Forks and Port Angeles, looking for this "adorable little boutique" that Jessica pretty much insisted we shop at. I just smiled and nodded along with the conversation, not particularly caring, and instead was annoyed that I hadn't Googled bookstores in the area. I just decided to wait for a good opportunity to separate myself from the pair of them and go wandering around for a bookstore myself.

Once we arrived, Jessica was actually able to find the boutique she'd been referring to, and I followed the two of them into the store. After an hour of browsing, the two of them had managed to find affordable dresses in their sizes, and I casually excused myself, planning to rendezvous at an Italian restaurant they'd mentioned. Food, I could do; books, of course—but dress shopping? I mean, you could really count me out of it, I thought to myself as I walked down the street, passing a new age type bookshop, and ignoring the fact about what had happened the last time I'd been without protection after dark.

However, as the businesses became more and more sparse as I walked, I soon became confused, and found that I had no sense of direction in this sea port town. I decided to try another block, and I found that even that didn't work, and so I decided to turn around. However, I couldn't find the way back, as the streets looked very different in the darkness than they'd had in the light, and I felt myself growing uneasy. I knew I'd made a mistake when I passed a man, lurking in the shadows around me, and heard a series of footsteps behind me. Turning another corner, two other men suddenly appeared, and, quickly, I knew I was surrounded.

 _Not this_ , I thought to myself. _No; not again_...

. . .

" _James, what are you—?"_

" _Chelsea's brother, Caleb, is away at college," James assured me, pulling me along the hallway at the back of the house. "Come on!"_

" _But where are we going?" I asked, following, albeit reluctantly. "Chelsea talked about the party guests not trespassing—"_

" _What Chelsea doesn't know won't hurt her," James replied, growing impatient as he opened a door at the end of the hallway. His words were slurred ever so slightly; I knew he'd been drinking, and while I hadn't touched anything, I was not wholly naïve here. "Come on, quick, before someone catches us!" He pulled me into what I presumed was Caleb's bedroom and slammed the door behind me, and immediately pulled me against him._

" _James, what—?"_

 _James's lips met mine in the darkness, forcing mine apart, his tongue searching my mouth to find mine, and although I kissed him back, something felt wrong. I struggled within his grip, but he pulled me closer and closer, managing to stick his tongue down my throat. He growled ever so slightly, shoving my back from him and pulling at my dress. "Get you out of this thing," he muttered to himself then._

" _James, no..."_

" _Come_ on _, Bella," he said, exasperated. "It's been over two years, for god's sake! Come on—it's time!"_

" _No, it's not," I said, pulling back and away from him._

" _Look, you're dressed like a call girl," he said, and yanked me to him again. "Wake up—this is happening, whether you want it to or not!" he screamed, throwing me down onto the bed provided for us, and ripping at my clothes._

" _No," I managed to get out as I was pushed face-down onto the bed, trying and failing to struggle out of his grip, becoming blinded by my tears. "James, don't! James, please! James, please, please, don't!" I yelled._

. . .

"Look at what we have here," said the apparent ring-leader of the men, stepping forward and smirking at his fellow comrades. He reached out then, attempting to cup my cheek; I could smell the alcohol on his breath, and it made my stomach roil.

"Don't touch me," I said, trying to sound tough, and cursing myself for leaving my pepper spray at home, beneath my bed.

"Oho, we've got a fighter," said the man. "Come on, honey—give us a look, will you?" he asked, and I jerked my face away from him. "Hey, sweet cheeks," he said, taking my chin firmly in his grasp, "I wasn't askin' you, I was tellin' you."

Then, a screech suddenly filled my ears and as I turned around, I felt my jaw drop as I saw Edward's silver Volvo come into view, and he practically flew from the car. He stalked towards the man, shoving him off me and glaring down at him. "Don't ever touch her," he growled through his teeth at him.

"Edward—?"

"Get in the car, _now_ ," he said, without looking at me.

I didn't need telling twice; I turned around then, running towards the passenger door and throwing it open, falling into the seat and strapping myself in. I locked my door behind me, and was, shockingly enough, relieved when Edward left the man in a heap on the ground and returned to his car. Getting inside, he slammed the door behind him and sped off, driving backwards into the night, and down an alley.

"I didn't need you," I said, not even bothering to thank him a second time.

"You have no idea what kinds of things—"

"Those thugs were thinking?" I demanded, finishing his thoughts for him. "Oh, believe me, Edward—I did. Take it from me," I said, settling back in the seat. "I knew."

"Take it from you?" he asked.

"Forget it," I replied. "How did you know where I was? Why would you save me a second time, Edward? Since you—"

"I don't hate you, Bella," he said through his teeth, spiraling out into traffic and gazing at the street ahead of him. "I can't explain why I knew where you were—I'm sorry, but I just can't do it—"

"Are you a psychic or something?" I asked him, and his eyes flashed to me. "I mean, do you have a GPS in your brain or...?"

He sighed. "Bella..."

"Look, I know you can't be human," I replied, and he tightened his grip upon his steering wheel, making his knuckles far whiter than his already alabaster skin. "So, are you a mermaid or something, or...?"

"No, I'm the creature that's been made popular on countless occasions by many authors out there, Bella," Edward said, his tone deathly serious. "I believe you may have even read some books about my fellow brothers and sisters..."

"A vampire?" I asked, the word falling from my lips—it was the most obvious one I could think of, and, given his body language, I knew I'd guessed right. "Wow. Suffice it to say I'm a little surprised..."

"How?"

"That someone so...gorgeous," I say, averting my eyes when I say that word, "would even think of saving someone like me..."

"And what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing, if you like plain humans," I reply.

Edward pulls his car into a parking space, removing his keys from the ignition and turning around to look at me. "Bella you're beautiful."

I raise my eyes to his. "Brilliant—so you're a vampire and a liar."

"I'm not a liar, Bella."

I felt myself inhale then at the seriousness in his voice, and I suddenly felt gratitude towards him for the very first time. Something awakened in me then, and I finally allowed myself to look at him for the first time, in an entirely new light. This beautiful man—erm, vampire—had saved my life not once, but twice; sure, he'd pretty much roped me into lying for him, but we all had secrets; well, we _both_ did, anyway...

"I know," I said then.

"Bella..."

"Yes?"

He spread his hands. "What do you want to know?"

I sighed. "Now it's question time?"

He nodded. "Well..."

"Okay," I said. "You've got to give me some answers, then."

"This...protection," he said, gesturing in between us, "isn't something that I can just ignore anymore, Bella Swan."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I am now unable to stay away from you," he replied. "And, to be honest, I wanted to tell you for weeks that your draft of the Spanish Flu essay you're writing is fantastic. I could even give you an in-depth analysis..."

I blinked. "That's how long you've been like this?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yes, that's when my father found me. When Carlisle changed me, my biological father had already died, and my biological mother was able to follow suit. She begged him to help me, in whatever way he could, and, since he was lonely, he did."

I nodded. "I see."

"You have to understand, Bella, when I first met you, I couldn't take the scent coming from you, and I came off as mean because I knew, if I was kind, I would draw you in, and then I would have killed you. I've never wanted a human's blood so much, even though it's a dietary restriction my family and I follow religiously..."

"A...dietary restriction?" I ask.

"We're vegetarians—we only drink the blood of animals."

I blinked, wondering how in the hell a group of vampires had spun that one. "So, all of you are vampires, then? Not just you and your dad?"

Edward nodded. "All of us, yes."

I bit down hard on my lip then, wondering what in the hell kind of fantasy world I'd fallen into then, and lowered my eyes. "I think I would have been shocked, if you were nice to me... Let's just say that my ex-boyfriend and I didn't part on good terms."

"He didn't want you to move up here?" Edward guessed.

I scoffed. "He didn't have a choice—I moved up here because of him."

"What's his name?"

"James," I replied, omitting his last name deliberately.

"Why did you break up?"

I sighed. "Because he went to jail."

"Drug deal gone bad?" Edward guessed again. "He rob a place?"

I shook my head then, knowing that I had to give Edward something. "No. No, he went to jail because he beat me up."

"Bella!" Edward cried out.

I raised my eyes to his then. "That's why I didn't want you to touch me, that day you saved my life," I explained, "and why I didn't want those thugs to touch me. I'm not a very physical person, or, at least, I haven't been since James..."

Edward nodded. "I understand. I'm sorry you had to go through that." He looks as if he wants to touch me, but hesitates, so I reach out then, taking his hand, and I gasp then.

"Oh, my..."

"What is it, Bella?" he asks.

"Your hands are cold," I whisper, locking my eyes with his.

He nods. "Can't be helped, unfortunately."

I shake my head. "Normally, I hate the cold, but I think, for now, I can make an exception. I mean, you _did_ save my life and all..."

"Twice," Edward put in.

I find myself staring into my eyes then. "I don't think why I'm saying this, but I... I actually trust you, Edward Cullen," I tell him, gently tightening my grip upon his hand. "I mean, you're not even human, but you've saved my life twice, and you don't want to kill me... I-I mean, you don't want to kill me anymore, do you?"

He shakes his head. "No. No, I think it would be extremely difficult to survive in a world where you don't exist, Miss Swan."

"What are you saying, Mr. Cullen?" I whisper, suddenly grasping at how very intimate this conversation was turning out to be.

"I'm saying you intrigue me, Bella."

"How could I possibly intrigue someone—a vampire—who is over a hundred years old?" I ask him, not even beginning to fathom it.

"Because, I can read minds," he replies simply. "I can read minds—and have been able to, for as long as I can remember—apart from yours."

"Apart from mine?"

He nods. "Yes. I can't explain it, but that must mean something... I don't know, maybe I'm overthinking it, but my need to protect you is the strongest affinity I've felt towards a human in over a century."

I laugh a little then. "I guess I never..."

"What?"

I shake my head. "I never thought I could be seen as special to someone—anyone—after what I went through with James," I tell him. "When you're in a relationship like that—I don't know, I almost can't explain it... They literally strip away your identity until you're left as this hollowed-out shell that depends upon them for survival..."

"Did it ever get that bad?" he asked.

I sighed. "Almost—he really pounded on me, right before he went to jail. That, combined with the evidence of the journal I kept of all the attacks, helped in the case."

"Has he been sentenced yet?"

I nodded. "Yes. My mom called me last week—he got a year."

"One year?!" Edward demanded.

I sighed. "Yes. His mother is an attorney and they have friends in high places. He got the year on the condition that the last three months be served under house arrest, and that he has to attend AA meetings and anger management courses."

"That's the system for you," Edward grumbled.

I nodded. "And yet, for the first time, I'm glad I moved to Forks."

Edward turned and looked at me. "You are?"

I nodded again. "Yes."

"And not just because of my feelings for you?"

I smiled. "Well, don't forget, I have feelings for you, too... I guess I never allowed myself to even think that someone like you..."

Edward smiled then, and I immediately stopped talking, awed by his beauty. "I hope that, one day, you'll let me in completely, Miss Swan."

I blinked then, knowing that the ball was in my corner, so to speak. I leaned forward then, before I could talk myself out of it, and kissed him lightly upon the lips before pulling back. "The day will come, Mr. Cullen. The day will come."


End file.
